


i thought i told you to let go

by anetherealmelody



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Fluff, Gen, Protective Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, dadza supreme, help lol, idk why i can't stop writing abt them, techno sees right through him, their relationship is just too perfect, tommy is a compulsive liar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:53:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28789029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anetherealmelody/pseuds/anetherealmelody
Summary: Tommy is transparent. Techno isn't stupid. It's funny, though, so he plays along—until the day he can't.Or: Five times Tommy lies to Techno, and one time Techno lies back.
Relationships: Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 23
Kudos: 330





	1. comets

**Author's Note:**

> This'll be short! I just like the easy structure of 5+1s and felt like writing something, so here we are. Nothing complicated:)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

1.

“I hate you,” Tommy says petulantly. 

“Liar,” Techno says.

Tommy crosses his arms. “If a comet flew from outer space and landed on your head, I wouldn’t even stop it.”

Techno barks a laugh. “ _No one_ could stop a comet, idiot. It would wipe us all out.”

“Phil could,” Tommy says. He narrows his eyes. “I’ll get him to throw one at you.”

“That’s objectively impossible,” Techno says flatly. “No matter how strong you think Phil is, he—”

“ _Phil!”_ Tommy calls, and scrambles off the couch toward the kitchen door. “Phil! Techno thinks you’re _weak_ , and—”

Techno jumps on him before he can get another word out. They scuffle on the floor—Techno grinning, Tommy complaining; Techno winning, Tommy losing—and, after a moment, Wilbur deigns to look up from his spot on the couch. 

“Will you two quit it?” he asks. He holds up his book. “I’m trying to read.”

“Nerd,” Techno and Tommy say at the same time. 

Techno turns to Tommy, glaring. “That’s _my_ insult,” he says.

“No, it’s not,” Tommy says, grinning triumphantly. “ _Nerd_.”

“You’re literally five,” Techno says, and lunges for him again. 

Tommy shrieks, rolls past the couch, jumps to his feet, and dives across into lap. “Help, Wil! Save me!”

Groaning, Wilbur tosses his book aside. “This is _pointless_.” He stands from the couch, stalks toward the door, and calls, loudly, “ _Phil!”_

Tommy props himself up on the couch to look at Techno, shrewd-eyed and mischievous. 

Techno grins. Techno nods. 

They’ve always been on similar wavelengths, Tommy and Techno, and now is no exception. Without a second thought, they barrel straight for Wilbur. Snitches get teamed up on, thank you very much.

After a few moments of his haughty _I’m-the-older-brother-and-therefore-more-mature-and-above-these-stupid-childish-fights_ act, Wilbur gives in, because he’s still young, too, and he might be the worst fighter of them all, but fighting is fun all the same. 

It’s especially fun when Wilbur yells, “ _Get him, Tech!”_ and the two of them team against Tommy, easily pinning his squirming body to the ground, ignoring his last-ditch screeches of “I hate you guys so, so, _so_ much!”

“No, you don’t,” Techno says again.

“I hate you the most,” Tommy snaps, glaring.

"You're a sore loser," Wilbur says.

"It's not losing when you're _cheating_ ," Tommy says.

"It's not cheating when it's _resourceful_ ," Techno says.

And that's not true, but Tommy is five and unable to spot major deficiencies in anything Techno says, ever, because he hardly ever understands it in the first place. So he scowls and repeats, "I _hate_ you."

He poses _zero_ threat to the team of elder brothers from his position, so any potential sting is taken from his words. They grin, lean back, and high-five each other over Tommy’s head.

“ _Stop_ ,” Tommy whines. 

“You asked for it,” Wilbur says. “I was just reading.”

“I asked for your _help_ ,” Tommy groans. “I’m going to tell Phil.”

“Tell me what?” Phil asks, popping his head in the threshold. 

And suddenly the tables turn—Tommy is hot glass, and Wilbur and Techno jump away like they’ve been burned. Tommy stands, grinning, and exclaims, “They tried to _kill_ me!”

Techno and Wilbur’s protests are vehement and immediate…and not really protests at all. “He had it coming,” Wilbur says, smothering a laugh, just as Techno mutters, “If only we’d succeeded.”

But Phil is long accustomed to his boys’ exaggeration, and he can feel the happy energy radiating from Tommy, can see the content glint in Techno’s eyes, can hear the buried laughter in Wilbur’s tone, so he raises his eyebrows in a reaction far too calm for Tommy’s liking, far too dramatic for Techno’s, far too suspicious for Wilbur’s, and says, “Well, dinner’s on.”

Tommy sighs. Techno snorts. Wilbur laughs.

“Tech and Wil, set the table. Tommy, you’re off.”

“I _knew_ it,” Tommy says, turning to a now scowling Techno. “I _knew_ he could hold a comet if he tried.”

“What are you—he asked us to set dinner, idiot. Not hold a comet.”

“Same difference,” Tommy says, and runs to hug Phil. “I bet you could hold a comet if you tried.”

Phil rolls his eyes and flicks his ear, but grabs his hand to hold all the same. “Stop taunting your brothers, or you’ll be setting, too.”

“Sorry,” Tommy says.

“No you’re not,” Techno says.

Tommy grins. “No. I’m not.”

As Phil tugs him out of the room, Tommy mouths over his shoulder, _I won._

" _Phil—"_

Phil flicks Tommy's ear.


	2. lemons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for your response last chapter! I'm so happy you liked it, and I hope you like this, too. Lots of fluff :D

Tommy’s nose is scrunched. 

He turns the gift over and over in his hands, trying to work out its purpose, its relevance, its appeal.

He finds nothing.

Wilbur purses his lips to contain his laughter. Techno looks at him pointedly— _Don’t give it away_.

Wilbur nods.

“What do you think of it, Tommy?” Phil asks, settling onto the carpet with a cooked pork chop on his plate. “Lovely, yeah? Techno’s worked on it for months. He’s been so excited to give it to you.”

Tommy glances up, birthday-bright eyes dimmed, slightly, by the utter disappointment of his highly anticipated gift. He looks down at it with something akin to disgust, and, as he hasn’t quite learned to curtain his emotions, parades his revulsion for all to see.

Wilbur can’t help it. He snorts.

Techno narrows his eyes in warning, but is altogether unsurprised. It’s _Wilbur_ , after all—he can’t _not_ laugh when Tommy is an idiot. It is a physical impossibility; a DNA strand that Ender forgot to mend.

Tommy looks up sharply at his snort, but, unlike Tommy, Wilbur _has_ learned to curtain his emotions, so he schools his features before any accusations fly.

“Well?” Phil prods through a bite of pork chop.

Tommy swallows. “I…” He cringes, falters. “I…like it.”

He physically recoils away from the words. His voice is so fake, so forced, so choked, that Techno can’t even blame Wilbur when the dam breaks and his sharp laughter floods the room.

He and Phil, on the other hand, maintain their composure. They’re playing for the endgame, see. They’ve been waiting to milk this for months.

Tommy scowls at Wilbur. “What?” he demands.

“Noth—nothing,” Wilbur says, trying and failing to catch his breath. 

“I’m so glad you like it,” Techno says.

Tommy winces.

Phil grins. Techno smirks.

Tommy furrows his eyebrows. “How did you even _work_ on this? It’s a _lemon_.”

“I grew it,” Techno says. “Just for you.”

Tommy swivels the lemon around again, stopping when his eyes catch the sticker on the skin. He turns it around for Techno to see, all narrowed eyes and heavy suspicion. “It says _Farmer’s Market_ right here.”

“Huh,” Wilbur says, words weak and airy with laughter. “Wonder why.”

Techno shoves him. Phil laughs. 

“I wanted it to seem as genuine as possible,” Techno says. “Sticker and all. Just like the real thing.”

Tommy looks at him strangely.

“Thoughtful, yeah?” Phil says.

Tommy glances at him, at Wilbur, at his gift, and back at Techno.

“Techno,” Tommy says carefully, like he doesn’t want to be the one to break the bad news. “I’m _allergic_ to lemons.”

Techno purses his lips even harder—the laughter is bubbling, boiling, rising, but he must keep it down. His expression shifts into offense. “Fine,” he says. “Don’t like my gift.”

“No, no, no. I _like_ it. I just can’t _eat_ it, or else I’ll literally die—”

“You can take today off,” Wilbur says, words choked with immortal laughter. 

Tommy blinks at him. “What?”

Wilbur’s face is flushed and he clutches his stomach like laughter will explode out if he doesn’t, but he composes himself enough to be intelligible. “Just don’t be allergic today,” he says. “So you can eat the lemon.”

“You’re an idiot,” Tommy says. “You’re…wait a mo’.” Understanding dawns, and he squints his eyes, turning to look at them each in turn. His focus narrows and he targets Phil—the weak link of them all, for Wilbur, despite his laughter, would never tell, but guilt-tripping Phil works every time. 

Tommy doesn’t hesitate. He stalks up to Phil, towers over him on the ground, and puts his hands on his hips. “Phil,” he starts.

Phil takes a bite of pork chop. “Hullo, Tommy.”

“Why did Techno give me a lemon?”

“It’s your birthday,” Phil says.

Tommy crosses his arms. “You’re lying.”

Wilbur laughs. 

Phil raises his eyebrows. “Is it not your birthday?”

“No, not about—you’re lying about the lemon.”

Phil shrugs.

“I thought you liked it,” Techno says.

Tommy turns, glaring. “I know you’re lying.”

“I think _you’re_ the one lying, Tommy,” Wilbur says, stoking the fire. “You clearly don’t like Techno’s gift.”

The fire explodes. 

Tommy chucks the lemon at him. 

Wilbur clutches his stomach for an entirely different reason, now. Techno scrambles away from him quickly, not wanting to get caught in any potential crossfire. 

“Tommy!” Phil shouts, laughing. “Don’t throw lemons at your brother!”

“My _lemon,”_ Techno laments.

“It’s _my_ lemon, Technoblade,” Tommy says.

“Then why’d you use it as a projectile?” Techno demands.

“It’s not like I could have used it as anything else! I’m _allergic_ to it!”

Techno collapses in laughter.

Behind him, Wilbur groans dramatically, but Techno sees him crawling toward the lemon, so he backs away further.

“ _Phil_ ,” Tommy implores, spinning back to face him. “It’s a _lemon_.”

“But look, Tommy, you've killed Wilbur—”

“He’s _fine_ ,” Tommy snaps. “It’s a _lemon_.”

Phil sobers slightly at the risk of Tommy’s temper. He stands. He smiles down at Tommy, ruffles his hair, and, as Tommy relaxes, says, “You're too clever for us. C’mon, then. There’s another lemon in the chest.”

Phil leads a scowling Tommy out of the room. Techno follows, only turning when Wilbur throws the lemon at the wall on his left.

“I don’t know what you thought you’d accomplish with that,” he says, hauling Wilbur up. “Your aim is the worst I’ve ever seen.”

“I wasn’t trying to hit you,” Wilbur says, feigning deep offense. “My own _brother?_ Never.”

Techno rolls his eyes. 

They catch up with Phil and Tommy just in time for Phil to pull the door to Techno’s room open. Techno watches Tommy’s eyes widen—he’s not allowed in here, usually. Only Phil is.

“Techno?” Phil prompts. “Go get the lemon.”

Techno slips through the door, muttering, “I don’t like what you’re implying.”

Phil snorts. “Not that kind of lemon. The _fruit_ , Techno. Not the insult.”

There was a mess here, yesterday—scattered on his floor, piled on his desk—but he’d tidied everything in anticipation of this moment. He moves into his room, slides his closet door open, and pulls out a leather sheathe.

He smiles at it for a second, remembering late nights and early mornings, callused hands and molten burns, steady progress and careful concentration.

“Come here, Tommy,” he calls. 

Tommy does, wary and hesitant.

“It’s not a lemon,” Techno says, rolling his eyes. “And I’m not going to kill you.”

“That _would_ be lame,” Tommy says, entering the closet. “At least wait ’til tomorrow. Since, y’know. It’s my birthday.”

Techno smiles.

“Here,” he says, extending the gift. “This is the real thing.”

Tommy glances down.

And it’s awkward, suddenly, the air in the room, because he is _Technoblade_ , and Technoblade doesn’t _do_ emotions, gifts, sentimentalities. Technoblade is apathetic, dry, sarcastic. He does not work for months on something that could be rejected, that could subject him to scorn. 

Tommy’s silence only makes it worse— _he doesn’t like it, he doesn’t like it—_ and Techno is fine with silence, usually, but now it is too full, too tense, too loud; he must break it.

“It’s a—uh. It’s a tradition, of sorts. Phil gave me my first sword when I was ten, too, and I know how much you like fighting, so I…well. It’s actually not a tradition, really, because Wilbur didn’t get one, but I think that was mostly because Phil knew he liked music more, so he got a guitar, but—”

Tommy barrels into him.

He blinks and he flushes and this is worse, _worse_ , so much worse, because he doesn’t _do_ physical contact, but Tommy squeezes him tightly and it’s okay, it’s better—natural, easy. It surprises him, actually, how natural it is; Tommy’s grin against his chest, Tommy’s arms around his back.

“Did you really make it all by yourself?” Tommy whispers.

“Yeah, so it’s probably really bad. I mean, you haven’t even looked at it yet, but you know how skilled an artist I am—which is to say a complete _failure_ —”

“Did you make the sheathe, too?” Tommy presses, cutting him off.

“Yes,” he says.

Tommy pulls back. His eyes are bright with joy, with… _water?_ Oh, _Ender_ , now he’s made him _cry—_

Tommy slides the sword out of its sheathe. 

“Ender above,” he murmurs. “Technoblade, it’s _perfect_.”

Techno averts his eyes. “It’s usable, at the very least—”

Tommy jumps up and down. Literally up and down, holding the sword and all, and it swings so Techno flinches, because he’ll have his hands full teaching him how to properly hold it, how to properly use it, but that's okay. H e’s excited.

“I can’t believe it! I can’t _believe_ it! Oh, _Ender_ , this is _so_ cool. Tubbo's gonna be _so_ jealous. I can’t _wait._ This is the coolest thing of _all time—”_

“You’re going to kill me,” Techno says flatly.

“Yeah, be careful, would you, Tommy?” Phil says.

“Sorry,” Tommy says. He turns to Phil, beaming. “Have you _seen_ this?”

“Oh, yes,” Phil says. “I watched him make it. What do you think of it?”

“I love it. I _love_ it. Oh, _Ender_ , I love it. It’s the coolest, best sword ever, and I’m going to be the best fighter in the world except for you and Techno, and I’ll beat Wilbur every time because he sucks, and—”

Wilbur throws the lemon at him.

“Ow!” Tommy shouts, scrambling away from the offending projectile. He scowls.

Wilbur laughs.

After a dangerously silent moment, Tommy's eyes sharpen.

Wilbur's widen.

"Oh, Ender," Phil mutters. "Here we go."

Grinning, Tommy says, “I have a _sword_ now, Wilbur. You’re going to _die.”_

Wilbur sprints out of the room laughing.  Tommy chases him.

Warmth spreads through Techno’s chest. Tommy lied about liking the lemon, but Techno knows this isn't a lie. Tommy _loved_ it. And now…well, now he’s going to kill Wilbur, but that’s doesn't matter. He _loved_ it.

Phil sighs, sinking down onto Techno’s bed with his plate of half-eaten pork chop. “We’ll deal with that later, I think,” he says.

Techno grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, please consider leaving a comment! They make my day! Either way, thanks for reading! <3
> 
> Next section will be up soon :D


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